


and if you stay

by mutedstar



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diners, Drabble, Fluff, Gothic, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutedstar/pseuds/mutedstar
Summary: Dream's not sure he wants to be in love.When he'd started this whole journey, he'd known what he wanted, no matter how far they made it. A group he could trust with his life, people who would hold each other up. People he could take along with him, a band of brothers.Looking at George doesn't feel like brotherhood. It feels like a whole lot more, and it's terrifying.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	and if you stay

**Author's Note:**

> heyy im an ex-mcr writer who orphaned almost all of my mcr works and now i’m... doing dnf. let me know how u feel xx :D

Dream doesn't have the heart to tell George it's way too late at night for the amount of syrup he's pouring on his waffles— chocolate chip waffles, actually. Not with the way George is smiling, grin lighting up his whole face, like there's nothing that makes him happier. Like there's no place he'd rather be than at a shitty diner with Dream at almost midnight, the last people left, the bane of waitresses. 

It makes George glow, and Dream can't stop staring. He's the lights of the city, bright and blurred, stars bursting in Dream’s eyes. 

George doesn't even know Dream's looking at him, and that's what makes it even more sacred, a pure moment that makes Dream feel like an outsider. Like he's not worthy of being privy to this, George’s wholehearted joy at the simplest things in the world. 

It's almost too much for Dream. He shifts a little, turning to gaze out the half-fogged window, eyes to the stars that shine so much brighter in the midwest than in Florida. They whisper to him, tugging at his soul, pulling at the threads in his heart. This is it, they say, silver light burning muted. This is it. 

He tries to ignore the howl in his chest. The fire in his lungs. The flowers growing in his stomach, unfurling, threatening to crawl up his throat and spill out of his mouth, taking his dignity with them. 

Dream's not sure he wants to be in love. 

When he'd started this whole journey, YouTube and the SMP and the Dream team, he'd known what he wanted, no matter how far they made it. A group he could trust with his life, people who would hold each other up. People he could take along with him, a band of brothers. 

Looking at George doesn't feel like brotherhood. It feels like a whole lot more, and it's terrifying. 

But when he finally looks back across the table, sees George’s gleeful smile while he empties four sugar packets at once into already-sweetened coffee, meets his eyes shining maniacally, Dream can't help but smile back. 

Fuck. 

George must notice something, though, that Dream’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, must know something is (not wrong, nothing is wrong, Dream is fine, he's fine, everything's fine) up the way he always does, his intuition sometimes hidden but always there. His smile fades a little, and Dream’s soul cracks. He never wants to be the cause of that. 

That's not love, he reasons with himself. He just cares. 

"You good?" George asks, tilts his head a little, unwraps his hands from around his coffee mug and reaches towards Dream’s on the table. 

Dream pretends not to see that, and he pretends not to see the resulting flash of confusion on George’s face either. Dream can't even meet his eyes, because he knows if he does, he won't be able to hold anything back anymore. 

"I'm good," Dream says, and it sounds hollow and fake even to himself. 

He finally looks up, makes himself look at George’s face, earnest and open and—

I love you, Dream’s brain says. I love you I love you I love you, repeating over and over like a mantra. 

This kind of falling is not what Dream’s used to. It's a different kind of rush, not like drugs or booze or a public bathroom hookup. This kind of falling— it's sitting on the precipice of a waterfall, the rush of water around him, falling over the edge, and not being sure he wants to take the jump, not sure he'll survive the drop into the pool below. 

He wants George, and he knows he does. It's just a matter of accepting it, and he's not sure he's ready. 

He's not sure he's ready, and he's not sure whether to feel guilt or relief. 

"Dream," George says, and Dream’s startled out of his reverie, realizes he's been staring the whole time. "Clay." The conviction in his voice, the wholeheartedness he fits into just a name— George is a miracle worker and doesn't even know. He doesn't even know, and all of a sudden Dream needs him to know. He needs to know how he makes Dream feel, needs to understand the embers in Dream’s soul that sputter and pop when he so much as speaks. 

Dream resolutely steels himself up and takes his hand, twines their fingers together softly, feels George’s calluses against the pads of his own fingers. 

Sitting across from George in a shitty midwestern diner on a December night, Dream accepts it. George lights up the soul he wants so desperately not to have, the soul he's taken and poured into his channel and his community for the sake of creation. George is there, building it back up, and he doesn't even know.

Dream is so in love with everything about him it's insane. 

The precipice pulls him ever closer. 

"I'm in love with you," Dream says, swallowing around a glowing ember, and the wind outside howls and scrapes the clouds against the dome of the black-ink sky and the stars are shining, shining like nothing Dream’s ever seen before and his vision is blurred and he's so, so scared. 

"Yeah?" George says, uncharacteristically soft, reproachful and tender. His hand is still warm in Dream’s grasp. 

"Yeah," Dream rasps, voice a whisper. 

"Good," George says, cracking a sideways smile. "That makes two of us." 

The look in his eye fans the sparks in Dream’s heart until they're roaring, rolling, ardent. 

Dream knows George will fall with him. They'll fall together.

**Author's Note:**

> :D let me know how u feel??


End file.
